Chapter 2

Brittany never went home, but straight to his place, following the directions on his note.

It led her to a quiet neighbourhood, and then right up to his house, which was a lovely place. It was a bit nicer than a teacher typically had, but then he had a wife before, separated now, so it must’ve been bought then.

His car was in the driveway, and she recognized it immediately. It was a nice, silver Lexus that looked only a couple years old.

Heading on up to the door, she rang the bell. She was a bit nervous, she had to admit. She’d never done anything quite like this, though she had thought about it so often. Fantasized about following him home one night or hiding away in his backseat, just waiting to pounce on him in private.

She’d fixed up her lipstick and straightened her skirt, but still she stood in those Mary Janes, the navy skirt that just grazed her white knee highstockings, and her pressed white blouse. She knew it showed off the red, lacy bra beneath if anyone stared hard enough, and it always made her wet to think about.

To know that the boys and men around her were going to their rooms with the teasing glimpses of her cleavage and thighs on their mind.

It felt like an eternity, but a few moments later he appeared there before her, opening up the door and welcoming her in.

“Come on in, babe,” he said to her with such a casual air of confident control, gesturing her up the stairs to his living room. His home was well furnished inside, the living room nice and big with a bar on one end. She noted his sleeves were pulled back, showing his thick, bulging forearms, the veins protruding prominently.

She nearly stumbled as she stared, but forced her way up, slowly.

She knew what he could see if he followed just the right distance behind. Those little flashes of milky flesh, so tender and ripe.

“Thank you, Mr. Hawthorne.”

He never corrected her, never told her to call him anything else, but after staring up her skirt at the round swells of her ass cheeks as she climbed those stairs, he then very casually placed his hand upon her hip. “I’ll get you a drink,” he said, his strong fingers sliding down over the curve of her rear and giving her backside a squeeze.

She didn’t bother suppressing her moan.

It was a slow, purposeful gesture, and he then walked over to the bar, taking out some vodka and a few other drinks as he went about mixing something for her. “Make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing around the room, with its two large, plush sofas around a beautiful fireplace and TV; it was obviously meant for entertaining a large crowd.

“Oh, the parties I could have here,” she said appreciatively, walking towards one of the couches and taking a seat, crossing her legs at the knee, and staring at him. It was almost like she was seeing him for the first time, her eyes traveling up his body with slow, steady purpose.

She popped open one of the buttons on the top of her blouse, revealing more of that hidden cross as it teased between her cleavage.

As he mixed their drinks he looked across the room at her, a wry smile upon his face. “There’ll be plenty of parties here, Brittany, and you’ll be here for ’em all from now on.” He was so purposeful and matter-of-fact about it, even as his words dripped with heavy sexual meaning. “Your mom used to be a real party girl too. Wasn’t how I met her, but it was how I got to know her way back when.”

Brittany couldn’t help but feel a bit curious, and almost relieved, to hear him say that. It was comforting to know that she wasn’t... broken. She’d always looked up to her mom. She always worked hard, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye.

Still, she found it a bit odd for her teacher to be talking about her mother in such a... sexual setting.

“Are you still close?”

He finished fixing the drinks, pouring a couple White Russians for them before heading over to the sofa with her. “Not as close as you and I are gonna get, Brittany,” he said in a low voice, handing her the drink as he slipped down beside her, putting an arm around her shoulders. He was closer than he’d ever been with her, his hard body pressed up beside her, really accentuating just how much bigger the man was than her.

Leaning in, he inhaled her feminine scent and smiled. “Everything about you is just fuckin’ beautiful, doll.”

She loved the constant barrage of familiar nicknames, the feel of him...

lusting for her. Wanting her.

And yet she knew she wasn’t the one in control. She wasn’t the one calling the shots.

He was.

She licked her lower lip before sipping the creamy liqueur, her eyelids fluttering pleasurably. “I never thought this is where I’d be tonight. Or any night.”

He took a sip of his own drink then laid the glass down on a coaster on the coffee table before reaching over and resting his hand upon her knee. “Never?” he questioned her, as if doubting her. Those strong fingers of his rubbing over her inner thigh as he moved from her knee. “I guess imagination’s not your forte, doll. It’s okay,” he said soothingly, smiling fondly at her.

She smirked back at him, already feeling the effects of the alcohol. Or, more likely, her youthful idea of the effects of the alcohol, combined with her own burning lust.

“I said I never thought this is where I’d be. Not that I didn’t want it.”

Some music seemed to start playing all of its own accord, or perhaps Brittany didn’t notice him start it up. The rhythm of it starting off smooth and getting rather lively before long, though she didn’t recognize it at all.

“You know, I’ve been waiting for this day to come for quite some time, doll,” he said in his deep voice, rubbing her shoulder and along her thigh as he edged his fingers beneath her skirt. “Watched you grow up. Saw the telltale signs that you were becoming such a little sex bomb all the time.” He gave a big, broad smile. “I don’t think you could’ve turned out any more promising.”

She uncrossed her legs and her knees pressed together, that throbbing of her pussy nearly driving her mad as she drank more of the White Russian. It was nerves. She knew it was. Her stomach was flipping and dancing unlike it ever had before, and she was feeling so damned hot.

“Oh?” she practically stammered, and cursed herself for not being better at keeping herself calm and collected. Uncaring of her teacher’s desire for her.

He tilted his head, his thick blonde hair spilling to the side as he smiled at her. “Yeah, that’s right. I was looking out for you even if you didn’t notice it as such,” he explained, his hand squeezing her leg as he moved in so daringly close to her feminine heat, forcibly prying her thighs apart enough to graze over her panties. “You’re a very special woman, Brittany.

A beautiful little airheaded bimbo,” he said, as if it were the highest compliment.

“Oh god,” she pleaded again, her head tilting back and her long, straight hair spilling over the cushion on the back of the sofa. Her entire body felt like it was on fire, and when he touched her, she barely knew what to do with herself. Her hands shook as she brought the rest of the drink into her mouth, eager for the creamy coolness to ease the scorching heat, but it only inflamed her more.

Mr. Hawthorne leaned over her, his mouth finding her neck and kissing upon her smooth, pale skin as his hand crept up to rub over her panties. His long finger tracing the outline of her slit as he kissed and suckled her neck up towards her ear, where he nibbled her lobe.

She could hear his rising breathing, and his low, lust-laden voice so quiet yet right there against her. “You’re a walking, talking dickteaser in the flesh,” he husked as he felt her dampness through her panties. “You’re pure sex, and you’ve got no room in that head for anything else, just like you should be.”

Brittany made a small noise, but it was incoherent. Halfway between a moan and a protest, her hips writhed against him of their own volition.

Her teacher was touching her.

Mr. Hawthorne was touching her.

Kissing her.

Purring in her ear.

She was putty in his hands as she put the glass on the end table, her body pressed to his eagerly.

He was so different from the way he acted during class, that warm, knowledgeable veneer replaced with bawdy talk and lewd touches. This was the man in his own home, acting with her as he truly wanted to, she realized.